


Seeing the real you (it's not what I imagined)

by Rei



Category: Amazing Spider-Man (2012), Deadpool (Comics), Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spideypool - Freeform, Superfamily, Wade has standards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2012-09-22
Packaged: 2017-11-14 18:39:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rei/pseuds/Rei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The fuck,“ Deadpool said slowly. He was staring at him in a way that made Peter feel decidedly uncomfortable, and this was saying something, considering Deadpool had a habit of leering at him at the most inappropriate times.<br/>"Are you kidding me?" he eventually gasped. "How <i>OLD</i> are you? <i>Twelve?</i>“</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's not what I imagined

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Italiano available: [Vedere il vero te stesso (non è ciò che avevo immaginato)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4878112) by [Himawariiiiiii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himawariiiiiii/pseuds/Himawariiiiiii)



> Warning 1: It's not beta-read and I'm no native speaker and basically ... I'm terribly sorry. ._. Anybody up to beta-read for me in case I decide to write more Spideypool?  
> Warning 2: This is somewhat a mash-up between comic-verse and movie-verse - but hey, timeline, shmimeline.  
> 

Afterwards it was hard to tell what exactly had happened and when exactly Deadpool had appeared (and why he was even here) and how the bomb had come into play. 

But afterwards Peter didn't particularly care anymore about any of that, because stuff was exploding and the whole building was coming down around him and he was kind of busy with escaping and _trying not to die_.  
You know. A regular Tuesday night. 

He stumbled more than he jumped and eventually he collapsed on a roof - any roof, seriously, he wasn't picky right now, but it was high and secluded and roofs made him feel safer somehow… Everything hurt. He tried to get up again, but failed. He couldn’t breathe and very faintly he thought that couldn’t be good, because oxygen was kind of important for silly little things like brain cells or… other stuff.

And then all of a sudden somebody tore at his face and it felt like they were trying to rip the skin right of his bones. Except it wasn't his face, of course, it was the damn mask…  
Peter smelled burning spandex and gagged. He made a painful noise deep in his throat that got interrupted by hacking coughs. His mask came off with a tearing sound that made Peter wince (Sometimes his suit felt too much like parts of his own body too ever watch comfortable how it got ripped to pieces), and instinctively he tried to escape. He didn't get very far, before he bumped into a wall. 

He was still coughing; trying not to suffocate had priority right now, so it was difficult to focus on the blurry figure in front of him. It was red and black and familiar and _way too close_.

"…you need mouth-to-mouth? Because I can totally do that! Even though I‘m probably more of a sucker than a blower if you know what I mean. I like to bite, too, makes the girls go all wild. Do you need mouth-to-mouth? I promise not to bite, except if you want me to. Spidey? You want me to bite you?“

Peter wanted to die.  
"…go…-way….,“ he rasped. He lowered his head and pressed his face against his knees.

He could deal with a lot right now, but not with Deadpool. Definitely not with Deadpool.

"Hey come on, man, that really hurt my feelings! Not cool! I was totally doing the heroic thing here and saved your life. “

There was _a lot_ Peter could have said to that, but he couldn’t _breathe_. 

"Bomb…?" He choked out. 

"Hey, that one wasn't mine! It was the green dude's! You can't blame me for everything, you know, at least not until you can prove my alleged involvement in the Kennedy assassination." 

The Green Goblin. So Peter had been right about the whole thing being a trap.  
Great. And it would be even greater if the world would finally stop spinning around him. 

A surprisingly gentle hand touched his neck. "I know, they say you should put your head between your knees when you’re about to faint, which is rubbish by the way – I had my head between my knees once and I still felt pretty crappy; but of course I was missing my upper body at that point to that might have something to do with it… where was I? Oh yeah. When you’re about to suffocate it’s probably not cool to press your face against something. Kinda counterproductive if you ask me. So come on. Do your thing. You know. Breathing. Stuff.“

Peter raised his head and squinted at him. _Working on it_ , he wanted to say. _What do you think what I’m trying to do here?_  
But then something in Deadpool’s face…mask…changed, something subtle but _there_ and Peter forgot anything he might have wanted to say.  
Because…crap.  
_Crap!_

He felt himself blanche and panic.  
His mask was gone. His mask was a burning piece of spandex laying on the ground a few feet away from him. Deadpool wasn’t supposed to see him without his mask. Deadpool wasn’t _ever_ supposed to see his face.

"The fuck,“ Deadpool said slowly. He was staring at him in a way that made Peter feel decidedly uncomfortable, and this was saying something, considering Deadpool had a habit of leering at him at the most inappropriate times.  
"Are you kidding me?" he eventually gasped. "How _OLD_ are you? _Twelve?_ “

Peter glared at him. Because seriously? That was the issues here?

"I tried to _maim_ you a few times! You should have said something! Shit! Dude! I don’t maim kids. I just shave their heads or hit them with a candy bar, tops. Sometimes I spank them, but only if they deserve it. Scout's honor.“

"You're not even a scout.“  
His voice gave out halfway through and more hacking coughs forced their way out of his throat. His head was swimming and his chest constricted painfully; by now he was pretty sure he was suffering from severe smoke inhalation… and wasn’t it fun that this wasn’t even on top of his list ‚ _Things that really suck right now_ ‘?.

He pressed his eyes shut and tried to concentrate on not-suffocating, which yeah, wasn’t working so well for him at the moment.

A hand started to pat back of his head, somewhat awkwardly and way too hard and Peter would have rolled his eyes, except even this seemed like too much of an effort right now. _Breathing_ , he thought dimly. _Just…keep breathing._  
The petting became gentler after a moment, until it was almost soothing and Peter tried to concentrate on the rhythm of the hand stroking his back. It almost helped.  
Breathe in…breathe out…in…out…  
_Come on, Pete… stay focused… this isn’t so hard…_  
Strange how is inner voice always sounded a lot like Steve’s Captain America voice. 

"Dude,“ Deadpool said after what felt like an eternity. He sounded freaked out. "Should I call your parents or something? Do they need to…I don't know, pick you up?“

"My…? Wha-…?!“ Peter gritted his teeth, feeling slightly insulted. "I’m not twelve. I'm twenty-one!“

Deadpool’s hand stilled for a second. "Yeah right,“ he said. "Wanna try that again?“

Peter sighed. „…none of your business.“

"Look, if you’re really twelve I’m in a shitload of trouble now and I would feel really bad for…well, _occasionally_ trying to shoot you, blow you up and for throwing you off a bride and not to mention the one time where I…“

"…seventeen!“ Peter coughed. "I'm almost eighteen, okay. Now stop it…“  
He coughed again and breathing was still a chore, but at least it didn’t feel as if a herd of elephants was dancing tango across his chest anymore. More like a slow waltz.

"Still not cool. I sprang a boner for you once or twice, you know that, and now you make me feel like a dirty old scumbag. I mean, even I have standards; they might be low, but I have them, and kids are _SO_ not on my kink-list…“

Peter groaned. His head hurt. Everything hurt, to be honest and he felt dizzy and nauseated and he was so not in the mood right now.

"…even have to shave? Because, seriously, you don’t look like you do, except for your legs obviously…really, your costume’s so tight that…“

Deadpool was babbling. Somehow Peter knew that was bad. Deadpool always talked and he never stopped, not even when you severed his head from the rest of his body, but this kind of fast-paced, frantic babbling only ever occurred when things were about to go dramatically downhill from here.

"…and what the fuck, _why is_ your costume SO tight, dude, when you don’t want people lusting after you? What’s _wrong_ with you? What were your parents thinking letting you out of the house, looking like a red and black candy stripper…“

"…I think you mean a candy _striper_ and I honestly don't think you know what that is.“

He vaguely did remember Tony complaining about his costume, too, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t about its tightness or looking like a stripper, and more about the fact that it was ‚ _just spandex?! Are you insane?! It’s not even bulletproof!_ ‘.  


"Wait a minute…do you even have parents? Do you?…don’t tell me you’re an orphan, please don’t, because that’s so cliché and so fucked up and it makes me feel as if I had napalmed a fucking puppy hospital or something, seriously dude, you gotta…“

"Would you…stop talking?“ Peter asked somewhat hopelessly. "Please." Quietly suffocating sounded like a more and more appealing option right now.

"I wasn’t around for your origins story, so I don’t even know, okay? I’m not even sure which universe this is supposed to be – did I throw you of a bridge?“

"…not that I remember?“

"Okay, not _that_ one apparently.“

Peter tried to get up, probably to get away from Deadpool, he wasn’t really sure afterwards, but any attempt to move was drowned out by the sharp pain spiking in his leg and left side. His vision whitened. He must have blacked out for a second or two, because the next thing he knew was that Deadpool was way closer than he had any business to be and Peter lied on his back, staring up at the sky. 

"Uh oh. Ah. Ugh. That's not good,“ Deadpool announced. „I don’t think your skin is supposed to come of like that, but then again what do _I_ know…“

Peter swallowed. "Great…,“ he croaked. „Now I’m going to puke.“

A curious black and red mask peered down at him. „Oh. Hey. You with me?“

"Never.“

"Don’t be like that. Pals are nice to each other.“

"… not pals.“ Peter closed his eyes and swallowed against the bile raising in his throat. „How bad…?“

Deadpool was quiet for a split second, but it was enough to make Peter feel seriously uneasy. "Well, chicks dig scars, right? I mean, they dig me and I’m basically all scars, so…“

"How bad?“ Peter repeatedly stubbornly.

Deadpool exhaled. „Dude. Your leg looks like a steak. A raw one. That got burnt. Pretty badly. It’s…really nasty.“

"…Christ…“ He groaned.  
That explained the excruciating pain, all right. 

He would heal eventually and a lot faster than regular humans, too, but even with his accelerated healing this would take a few days.  
He was never going to get home like this. Even the mere thought of bringing himself in vertical position and putting any kind of pressure on his leg made him feel nauseated and sweaty. There was just no way.

"Remind me…not to get blown off again so soon…kay?“ he rasped. "Not…as much fun as they make you think.“

"Yeah. Believe me, I know.“

He probably did, Peter realized. It was a strangely comforting thought.

Deadpool nodded, looking determined all of a sudden which was never a good thing. "Well then…only one thing to do now, right?“ He reached for Peter.

"You going to finish me off now?“ Peter asked, eyes half-lidded and only half joking. "Cause I‘m not going to be able to stop you…“

"Don’t be a dweeb.“ Wade sounded genuinely offended. „Or even more dweeber than usual.“

"That’s…not even a word…“

"Oh shut up. What are you? Captain Grammar? Here to correct your use of the past continuous and stab you in the face with an oxford comma?“

Peter smiled at that.  
Then he passed out. Which was probably for his own good.


	2. It changes everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Unexpected mood whiplash near the end. Also, Deadpool is... Deadpool.  
> It's still not beta-read. I'm sorry! D:

Peter blinked slowly.  
A ceiling came into focus. It was an unfamiliar ceiling with unfamiliar stains and it lacked the glowing stars stickers on his own ceiling at home.  
He frowned sleepily. Something was weird and off somehow, but right now he couldn't pinpoint what exactly…

"Oh heya. You're alive."  
He froze at the voice and jerked his head to the side. 

Deadpool.  
He was in one room with Deadpool and his spider sense hadn't tingled.  
_He was in one room with Deadpool._  
Deadpool who was obviously ready to pounce and kill him in his sleep, something red and sticky dripping down his fingers…blood, it only could be blood of one of his many helpless victims or… Peter's blood… crap, he was going to…

Peter had nightmares that started exactly like this. 

He jumped. He hadn't made a conscious decision to move, but as always his body reacted before he had even time to blink. One second he was lying on the couch, the next he was crouching next to the farthest away wall, breathing frantically. 

"Wow," Wade drawled slowly. "You are _fast_." 

Peter shook his head and tried to clear his blurry vision. He felt close to panicking. Something was wrong with his body. Everything felt so heavy and so slow. Deadpool must've done something to him. He must have…  
"Stay back!" he ordered. His voice sounded rough and he broke halfway. "Hands where I can see them!"

"Dude," Wade said, wiggling with his fingers. "My hands? Seriously? Why don't you worry about the things I can do with my toes? Not to mention my teeth." 

"Where am I?" Peter demanded. Slowly he started to panic. After a quick glance downwards he noticed that he wore nothing but an unfamiliar looking green shirt that was at least three sizes to big on him. "What happened? What did you do? And where's my stuff? Stay…-stay where you are, don't move!" 

"That's a lot of questions, pumpkin. Do you want me to answer them chronologically, alphabetically or completely at random?" 

Peter blinked again, some of his panic ebbing a little.  
Mainly because Wade still hadn't moved from his spot. 

So…okay, maybe Wade wasn't exactly ready to pounce. He sat sprawled in an armchair, mask rolled up a to reveal his mouth and a stripe of his badly scarred skin. He was eating a taco, and the red, sticky liquid on his fingers was… taco sauce?  
Peter started to feel a little bit better. And a lot more stupid.  
But, you know, it was still Deadpool and Deadpool was _always_ dangerous. 

"Where am I?" he repeated. 

"What does it look like?" Wade cocked his head, looking curious and mildly amused. "It's not the Batcave, in case you wondered. Can I keep eating now? My taco's getting cold. And bad things tend to happen when my taco gets cold. Like people loosing their limbs and heads and stuff."

Peter threw a suspicious gaze around.  
Admittedly it didn't look like 'Deadpool's secret underground torture chamber'. Now that was a relief. It looked like a pretty ordinary apartment, kind of dirty and messy, but not worse than Peter's own room at home.

"What did you do to me?" Peter asked, fighting to stay upright. His head swam. 

"I'm starting to feel seriously underappreciated, Spidey. I'm the _hero_ here! Haven't you read the author's note?" 

"Wade…"

"There was a bomb - so not my fault - and a green, nasty looking dude on a flying skateboard, which by the way, is _so_ early nineties. He was totally the bad dude and you were, like, the damsel in need of a dashing hero. And here I was." 

Green Goblin. Explosion. Right.  
Pieces slowly started to come back to him.  
His mask… Wade had seen his _face_!  
He remember the smell of burnt flesh and gagged involuntary. His leg…

Peter flinched and all of a sudden he became acutely aware of the pulsating sensation in his lower body. He forced himself not to look down, pretty sure he wasn't going to like what he would see. 

Wade took another bite of his taco. 

Peter stared at him.  
There was a moment of almost dizzying disorientation, as the world kind of tumbled around him and he tried to find a fix point, any point, that still made sense. There wasn’t one.  
He was…here. And everything hurt. And Wade was here. And he hadn’t tried to kill him yet. It boggled the mind.

Maybe his brain decided to short-circuit there and then, he wasn’t exactly sure what happened, but one minute he was standing (okay, he was leaning against the wall, but he was in a somewhat vertical position) and in the next the whole world seemed to tilt at its axis and he was falling…and all of a sudden he found himself smashed against a broad chest.

Wade had caught him.  
For a second his vision grayed around the edges and Peter fought to stay conscious. 

"Okay. Unexpected. Didn’t take you for the swooning type, but hey, whatever floats your boat, I guess. I don’t judge.“  
Peter felt the low rumble of his voice as he talked and then he was…picked up and…no way.

"Let me down!“ he all but squeaked. It was a manly squeak though. Very manly. And not at all like a little dog about to get neutered.

"We already played this game, don’t you remember? I carried you here. Like a little princess.“

"You didn’t!“ 

"Yeah, I was surprised, too. But one of the voices in the little yellow boxes insisted it would be the nice thing to do. Since I’m apparently the hero-type nowadays. I’ll try to fit the stereotype, you know? I even got a cat down from a tree recently. I shot at her.“

"…you’re not supposed to shoot cats."

"Hey, I missed. And she jumped down. Everybody happy, right?“ More careful than Peter had expected Wade lowered him on the couch again.  
Peter hissed a little as his leg got jarred and felt his eyes water. He flinched instinctively when Wade poked at his hip. 

"You should probably not move too much for the next few days…well, hours, but it looks as if we're past the 'raw hamburger' stage already. You heal pretty fast. That’s nifty. Not as fast as yours truly, but not bad for a baby hero.“

"I’m not a baby, I’m…“

" _Sixteen_ ,“ Wade said and Peter clapped his mouth shut, because Wade’s look was all intense and weirdly serious all of a sudden. „You lied to me. Twice. Which is pretty badass for a supposedly good guy." 

"I'm… sorry, I…" Peter paused. "What the fuck? I don't need to apologize to you. I'm not sorry. That's so not your business."

"Tough," spat Wade, who sounded almost angry. "Your name is Peter Parker, you won the fucking price for a fucking science project last year for your fucking high school and you’re _fucking_ sixteen years old.“

"How do you…?“ Suddenly his mouth felt dry.  
Deadpool knew his name. That was even worse than the face. It was highly unlikely that Deadpool would _ever_ run into Peter Parker and recognize him in a crowd, but knowing his name…  
Knowing his name meant he would always know where to find him. 

"I know you think I’m all brawn and no brains, but I actually _do_ know how to research somebody.“

"You can’t tell anyone. Ever!“  
Wade knew. Wade _knew!_ Wade who could never keep his mouth shut! Peter groaned inwardly.  
Jesus Christ.  


"You know _my_ name," Wade pointed out. 

" _Everybody_ knows your name! It's different!" 

"Maybe. Maybe not." 

Peter was quiet for a moment. "I’m almost seventeen. It’s just two more months. It doesn’t count.“

"The hell it does.“ But there was no real heat beneath his words.  
Something was wrong. Something was wrong with Wade, or maybe not wrong (because when was there ever NOT something wrong with Wade), but …off somehow. He acted different than usually, somewhat subdued and almost restrained. Just a little, but enough to make Peter feel uncomfortable in his own skin. 

"What?“ he said.

"What what?“ Wade replied. 

"What’s going on?“ 

"In my head? A lot. You can’t imagine all the ticky yellow boxes that keep interrupting my inner monologue which is quite deep and important right now. In reality? Probably not that much. Must be your fault. You’re kind of a party-pooper anyway.“

"No, I mean…" Peter paused and run his tongue across his lip, unsure what to say. "Why is it such a big deal to you?" 

Wade looked at him. "Guess why."

"It's not as if you _care_ who you fight!" Peter said exasperated. "Don't tell me you suddenly developed a conscience." 

Wade was quiet. 

"It changes nothing." 

In a single fluid movement that was faster than anything Peter could've anticipated Wade crossed the space between them and gripped his shirt. Peter tried to get up, but the hand on his chest pushed him back down. The other hand reached for Peter's face. Strong fingers enclosed his chin and forced his head upwards. He struggled and gasped for air, more out of surprise than actual pain. 

The grip around his face tightened and all of a sudden Deadpool's mask was so close, way too close to his face.  
"It changes everything."

Peter felt his eyes widen.

Wade stared down at him.  
Fingertips were digging into his cheeks and Peter froze, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and hopelessly overpowered.  
Wade run with his thumb across Peter's lower lip, his usually so expressive mask impassive and unreadable. 

"Let me go," Peter said softly, throat dry. "You need to let me go. I _need_ to go home."

For seconds that felt like hours Wade didn't move. His massive body pushed down on Peter and it should've hurt, but somehow he was too numb to feel much of anything. Something was going on that made him feel as if he had missed half the conversation. 

Suddenly the grip on his face vanished and in the blink of an eye the weight on him was gone. Peter gulped for air. Part of him felt almost dizzy with relief. Another part of him felt like he swallowed something burning. 

"Go," Wade said, not looking at him. He had his back turned to Peter, shoulders stiff and almost defensive. "I think you've spend enough time in my issue. Crossovers get boring after a while. Keep the shirt. Green totally cramps my style." 

Peter left.  
But the whole way back Wade's voice kept echoing in his head. 

' _It changes everything…_ '


End file.
